The Last Big Weekend - Dalby

 "Went out for the weekend, it lasted for ever, high with our friends it's officially summer" 

Arab Strap 

It started with a chance meeting at Trek UK last Autumn, meeting new people, talking ride planning and bike spec's, swapping numbers and sharing rounds at the bar.

Cyclehouse/Northern Collective/Big Bear Bikes

Here starts the pay off.
Two go mad in Dalby.


Pickering is the destination and the guys we are riding with are "Bears" or more specifically, riders for Big Bear Bikes.
We arrive late on a Saturday night, wearily booking in our accommodation. Mike and Amanda are our hosts at Eleven Westgate, a cosy B+B with plenty of space and homely charms. Well kitted out for Riders and Hikers with a drying room and Bike storage with mini workshop.
Bags dropped off, room checked in and keg was next on the agenda. 
A late night entry to the nearest fine ale establishment and 4 pints of Leeds Best was the only tipple worth  a go!
Breakfast came quickly next day as did the cold weather front. A fierce mix of gale force and hail saw our arranged night ride in jeopardy. We popped into BBB to have a chat with Dave to see what was in store for us that evening, " A short sharp one through the trees" was the answer, although a call from his wife confirming snow fall on the moors above Pickering didn't bode well.
Coffee and bike chat ensued and we took off in search of some carb absorption.
Pickering doesn't have a lot to offer on this front, especially on a Sunday at this time of year. Burger. Bevvie. Retreat to hotel to gear up.  The skies are darkening and cars driving through the village are snow topped.
We rendesvouz at the shop, a sombre mood is apparent but no-one is talking of backing out.
A quick decant and we are all mobile, a short sharp drive up a country road and we arrive at a small village named Newton. Its just turning dusk and it is blowing a gale, there is snow on the verges and windchill is effectively -3..........
There is a  suggestion........... " A few beers instead lads? You have a big ride on tomorrow."

"You always pass failure on the way to success"

Mickey Rooney

Stand firm. Tog up.  Bikes out.
To say it's cold is an understatement, conversation is minimal. This is going to hurt.
Five set out, short blast on tarmac followed by a short sharp left into an unassuming muddy path.
Sketchy. Muddy. Wet.
Almost immediately we are in a maze of off camber, switchback, off piste trails, cutting through tightly packed woodland. We hurtle along, woodsmen on a mission. The last bit of twilight evaporates and we are enveloped in the sticky pitch of night. The fun sections end with various sketchy recovery's and we head out to Stony Moor - a well trodden trail strewn with bike eating size rocks hidden in a swampy soup. On a dry day I'm sure this would be fast, hard packed and full of opportunity's for catching air and kicking up roost....... Today is not that day. One by One we attack, each trying a different line, each trying not to make a dab. It's almost impossible, lipping giant rocks popping out of the gloop but hard work pays off and George and Morgan make easy work of it on their singlespeeds! Six miles are almost finally over as we make the long climb out towards the warmth and welcome of the local pub in Newton. Ride over, pack up and change. Short and sweet and desperately hard, the ride is like the bar maid, we recline with ale in hand and talk about the day to follow - 32 hard miles in and around Dalby.

"You must look into people as well as at them"

Lord Chesterfield

Deluxe Wash Station

The day came around quickly and the cold night before was a distant memory as sun light flooded the prep area laid on by our hosts. A quick wash with some H+S and an application of tlc and the steeds are ready for the onslaught Dalby has to offer.
We meet at BBB and load up with some energy gels and banter. One tyre change and a quick check of pressures and we load the "Team Bus" and get on our way.
Sprint overland to the top of the Hole of Horcum, a giant devils punchbowl scooped into the landscape of the Tabular Hills high on the North York Moors. Legend has it that the amphitheatre was made by a giant, who scooped up a large ball of earth and tossed it aside to create a nearby hill, Blakey Topping.
Well, legends aside we decant the bus to a howling North Westerley, numb ears and watery eyes are served up neat and we head off towards Flyingdales. The wind is fierce and we do well to keep on our bearing. A fun singletrack opens up into an open moor and we traverse to a high point, picking our way through the traces of snow laid down the night before. A small chute is presented and we each take a turn in fighting to stay upright on  what should be a fun entry to an odyssey of XC heaven. Dropping onto undesignated fire road we make huge advances while out of the wind and sheltered, moving at a very steady 15mph. Cutting back round to join bridleway we inch higher to join a footpath that will take us into Dalby, we carefully carry our steeds and hop over a gated fence to find our meander into the forest. Tractor units and woodsmen line the route, massive deforestation is taking place, out with the old and in with the new, we take heed and assume some trail maybe affected.

Snow above Flyingdales

Flow?

Entering the first section at the back of the red route we gain our first taste of the effort needed to enjoy Dalby's rewards.
Flow is a word that does not resonate in our ears right now.
Working the trail, never relenting we manage to keep our speed. It's tight, twisty but in a contrived way appearing downhill but actually undulating all the time. We traverse to the next gate. Maintaining our high average, it's tough, uber tough. The Bears, Morgan and Rich, are super fit enduro athlete's, riding for hours at high speed over technical terrain is "Their bag". Mike and I however have a little more finesse and prefer to slow it down and concentrate on style and technique - no room for this today, we grit our teeth and hold on. Today we are being taught.


Two sections pass in quick succession, we pass gates waymarked with the red route arrow, we cannot feel the wind or the cold, this is almost clinical in approach. heart rate 176bpm, speed 14.8 mph, this is slightly uphill, no time for chat. Rich jokes of how, in preparation for the Sleepless in the Saddle, he and Morg would do twenty miles of this route every morning pre 6am on singlespeeds. This is acutely evident. Fire road becomes singletrack and singletrack becomes tarmac. Boom were on it again, a heads up of bomb holes as we hit 20.

Boom!

Brace. Brace. Brace.
The forest engulfs us encouraging more speed down and through some newly laid hardcore, the berms flow and we spit through another gate and on an upwards trajectory. It's fast and the first section that truly flows, I'm heading up the arrowhead and feeling the peer pressure, cracking slightly as we top out through a leafy clearing.
We stop and take on some fuel, a heady mix of gels and energy bars. Twisting, contorted, the trail ebbs on, a short rocky bermy chute creeps up and fun seeps in from the side. Careful now.

This feeling doesn't last long, next up a longer than necessary technical climb, demanding no less than 175bpm, it stings and smarts the senses. Wrought lungs and and gurns all round we fire through a clearing and into a fast technical section, rocks, roots, drops it awakens the senses and quells the XC demons. 
Same to follow, an unrepentant repetitive mantra of up, down, up, down. The strain is showing, we are offered a shortcut, well I say shortcut , were at 21 miles in and have averaged 9.6mph well above our seasonal average. Taking a long steady climb out we head along a grassy section of trail and without warning or indication skip left into the trees.

"Suddenly I stop, but I know it's too late, I'm lost in a forest all alone"

Robert Smith 

Previously used black trail, long forgotten, untamed and wild, we hit up the rooty sections and splash through muddy cutties. Awesome.
Conversation is sparse, food is needed. We head straight to the trail centre...... to find the cafe closed. Vacant looks abound we ask a lone "staff" from the bike shop if we could possibly score some calories. 
"Over there!" she exclaims, one handedly pointing to the new purpose built multi million pound visitors centre on the horizon. We are saved and duly head over to purchase over priced sandwich and soup combo's with a dedicated mission to give heartburn to those who fall for it's home made allure. Calories consumed and we press on, this time we climb out simply to descend back down, up and past GoApe which looks far better than the incarnations at Rivington and Delamere. Morgan affirms this with giggles and pointy finger gestures at where he dangled precariously the day before.

"Well, you wouldn't want a Bucket to the Chops!"

 Rich Mcguire

Grass track. High speed. Dual ruts.
Tree felling machine with a huge bucket on. It is moving, right?
We approach, cautiously. It is moving and yep, he hasn't seen us. Two chance past Rich and I sit it out, after all you wouldn't want a bucket to the chops!
Four of us float down the tarmac road for some time, indicating a long steady climb out (no surprises), we cut right and begin ascending the wall which I'm promised summits at the much fabled pub of ale. 
Some eternity later we are greeted with the heartfelt homecoming of sanctuary.  The Fox and Rabbit Inn at Lockton. We dress down for the occasion, removing muddy attire and leaving our steeds to graze outside. The fire is crackling and keg is on the agenda. Three swift pints ensue, mainly to put off the last onslaught back to Pickering. Eventually even I have to accept if we have another we would be staying until last orders.
Into the breach we go again, this time with much joviality, speeding into the valley opposite down grass sheep trails, caution to the wind. Short lived.com
We now have to work, out of the sun and with dusk creeping in the speed picks up and thoughts of who will be first to touch base are secretly being considered. We plough a cut parallel with the steam train line, fantastic scenery is brought to the fore by a setting sun.
Eyes down looking in, we hit tarmac and the speed ramps up again. Cramp, dehydration and hunger are ignored and nervous glances are thrown around as firstly Rich makes a fake lunge enticing Morgan into the Cavendishesque lead out train. It's all in vain as the town's traffic lights change to red stopping us in our tracks. A quick look down and the Garmin 500 confirms 32 miles at an average speed of 8.6mph.
Might not sound much, but over 32 miles over that type of terrain we finish with heads held high!


A quick debrief and we all depart to regroup an hour and a half later for more keg and curry.


This has been the Last Big Weekend.


Riders on the day


Rich Mcguire

Morgan "Freeman" Lloyd

Mike Hayes

Rick Iley

Massive thanks to all the guys at Big Bear Bikes, Pickering
Rich, Morgan, George, Wayne the God and of course Dave Beeley

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